The weapons had been stolen from you the day before.

You did not know who did it. There were no tracks, no witnesses, only an empty space where they should have been. In this world, things like that meant trouble, but more than anything, it meant one thing: without them, you were weaker. And weakness never lasted long.

That was why you were searching for anything that could replace them.

Grady Memorial Hospital loomed in the distance like a dead giant, and on one of the overpasses nearby you spotted an ambulance. Hanging at a strange angle over the edge of the concrete, as if it had been stuck there in the last second before falling.

Daryl did not waste time talking. Just a short tilt of his head and a look that meant: fast.

You climbed inside.

The interior was suffocating, reeking of mildew, dried blood, and hospital chemicals that no longer meant rescue. The stretcher was overturned, medical bags ripped open, bandages scattered across the floor like scraps of something that once made sense. You were looking for ammo, medicine, anything sharp, anything useful.

Daryl moved like a shadow. Silent, tense, his crossbow ready in his hands. His eyes never stopped working, checking every corner. He did not trust closed spaces, he did not trust silence.

And then you heard it.

The shuffling. Wet, heavy steps. Groans that were no longer human.

Walkers.

They were closing in from the overpass, drawn by the noise. Daryl cursed under his breath and immediately moved to the back. He slammed the rear doors shut with brutal force, blocking them with something heavy.

There was no time.

You moved to the front. Daryl slid into the driver’s seat, his hands steady even as his breathing quickened. He tried to reverse.

The engine howled.

The wheels spun against the concrete.

But it was already too late.

The dead pressed against the back of the vehicle like a lifeless wave. One body, then another, then another. A mindless weight. The ambulance jerked. Metal screeched horribly.

And then you felt that moment.

The moment when the ground disappeared beneath the tires.

The ambulance slid off the overpass, dropping several meters down, slamming sideways into the concrete with a crash that tore through the air. The windshield shattered instantly, exploding into sharp fragments. The roof twisted, the frame groaned as if the structure itself was screaming.

Your body lurched forward.

The seatbelt dug into your chest, the world detonated in white and black at the same time. A high ringing filled your ears, constant, deafening. A metallic taste spread across your palate. Blood. Dust. Fear.

You breathed shallowly, as if the air was too heavy.

The world spun.

Daryl moved beside you, hissing in pain as he tried to push himself up, but every motion looked like it cost him too much. His face was smeared with dust, his eyes still sharp, still wild, even though his body was weak.

He was not gentle. He never was.

But he reached out.

His rough hand gripped your shoulder, checking if you reacted, if you were still there. His breathing was heavy, broken. He could barely sit upright himself, but he forced himself to look at you first.

As always.

And your consciousness began to slip away, leaving you in that ringing, in that taste of iron, in the bent wreck of the ambulance hanging somewhere between life and death.